It down as simply being his way, and was as far from supposing as from

wishing him to have any serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss

Crawford, been an inattentive observer of what was passing between him

and some part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet,

but I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford allowed

himself in gallantries which did mean nothing."

"Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and

cared very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies'

affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault;

and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any

affections worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing one

who has been shot at by so many; of having it in one's power to pay off

the debts of one's sex! Oh! I am sure it is not in woman's nature to

refuse such a triumph."

Fanny shook her head. "I cannot think well of a man who sports with

any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered

than a stander-by can judge of."

"I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy, and when he

has got you at Everingham, I do not care how much you lecture him. But

this I will say, that his fault, the liking to make girls a little in

love with him, is not half so dangerous to a wife's happiness as a

tendency to fall in love himself, which he has never been addicted to.

And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a

way that he never was to any woman before; that he loves you with all

his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any

man ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you."

Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.

"I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," continued Mary

presently, "than when he had succeeded in getting your brother's

commission."

She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here.

"Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him."

"I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know the parties

he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and scorns asking favours;

and there are so many young men's claims to be attended to in the same

way, that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is easily put

by. What a happy creature William must be! I wish we could see him."

Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing of all its

Varieties. The recollection of what had been done for William was

always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr.

Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply of it till Mary, who had been

first watching her complacently, and then musing on something else,

suddenly called her attention by saying: "I should like to sit talking

with you here all day, but we must not forget the ladies below, and so

good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though we shall

nominally part in the breakfast-parlour, I must take leave of you here.

And I do take leave, longing for a happy reunion, and trusting that

when we meet again, it will be under circumstances which may open our

hearts to each other without any remnant or shadow of reserve."

A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, accompanied

these words.

"I shall see your cousin in town soon: he talks of being there

tolerably soon; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course of the

spring; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia, I am

sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have two favours

to ask, Fanny: one is your correspondence. You must write to me. And

the other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant, and make her amends

for my being gone."

The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not have been

asked; but it was impossible for her to refuse the correspondence; it

was impossible for her even not to accede to it more readily than her

own judgment authorised. There was no resisting so much apparent

affection. Her disposition was peculiarly calculated to value a fond

treatment, and from having hitherto known so little of it, she was the

more overcome by Miss Crawford's. Besides, there was gratitude towards

her, for having made their _tete-a-tete_ so much less painful than her

fears had predicted.

It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without

detection. Her secret was still her own; and while that was the case,

she thought she could resign herself to almost everything.

In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford came and sat

some time with them; and her spirits not being previously in the

strongest state, her heart was softened for a while towards him,

because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he

scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must

grieve for him, though hoping she might never see him again till he

were the husband of some other woman.

When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her hand, he would

not be denied it; he said nothing, however, or nothing that she heard,

and when he had left the room, she was better pleased that such a token

of friendship had passed.

On the morrow the Crawfords were gone.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was that he should be

missed; and he entertained great hope that his niece would find a blank